


Between Doom and Fate

by Geonn



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Play, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack finds his life repeating certain scenarios.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Doom and Fate

Long after the water had gone cold, Jack finally shut off the shower and stepped out. He slung a towel around his waist and stopped in front of the sink. He waited for the fog to dissipate and reveal his face. So many more lines than he was accustomed to seeing. And the gray hair. When did _that_ happen, exactly? He touched his chin and turned his head to the side. He remembered his face being rounder, when he was young. Now it was vaguely monolithic. He wasn't vain enough to think he hadn't aged, but he hoped he'd aged well. He knew a couple of people who would assure him he had.

He held his razor under the faucet, remembering a time long ago (a lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago, hell... it had happened to another person) when he was in the same situation. Walking down a ramp to see relieved but unbelieving superior officers waiting at the other end. They didn't leave people behind, but sometimes people were sacrificed. They didn't give up hope, but sometimes hope just ran out and there wasn't a goddamn thing anyone could do about it. 

Jack O'Neill had been left to rot in an Iraqi prison.

SG-1 had been written off as MIA on Netu.

Only the details were different. Netu was to Iraq, as Iraq was to another generation's Vietnam, to World War II, back and back and back. Same wars, only the people on the other side of the cage changed uniforms. Saddam's goons, Sokar's Jaffa. What was the difference, really. He looked at the shaving foam and realized he'd been standing at the sink long enough for the entire mirror to clear. He shut off the faucet, deciding to put off shaving for one more day. He had the downtime coming, and the only people who would see him didn't mind a little stubble.

_He stared at himself in the mirror, trying to remember the last time he'd gotten a haircut. He almost didn't recognize himself. He couldn't shave. He couldn't get a sharp blade that close to his throat without thinking... thoughts. Thoughts he couldn't give voice to, no matter how appealing they might be. And then a hand closed around his, and the razor was taken away from him. Someone softly said, "Why don't you let me do that?"_

He wasn't going to get that far gone this time. He was on recuperation, a short leave, and he'd be back on duty in a week. He would bounce back, because now he accepted he could get help without looking weak. And he had people willing to help him. He turned off the light and returned to the bedroom. Two bodies on the bed, a blonde woman pressed against a man's back. The blankets were around their waists, so he could see the curve of her breast where it was pressed against the man's back. 

Jack walked to the bed and sat on the edge of it. Neither of them stirred. Jack watched them sleep, watched the slow rise of Sam Carter's shoulder, and touched her leg through the blanket. 

Years ago, shrouded by Iraq, Sara had tried to talk to him. Tried to puncture the bubble he was living in, but she couldn't understand. He collapsed inward, staring out into the yard where his little boy was playing, but he couldn't bring himself to go outside. _There are rules against opening doors without permission._ No, not here. _Where do you think you're going, maggot?_ Nowhere, sir! 

It was Kawalsky who saved his life, the one who came in, who was understanding, who held Jack's hand while he cried. Jack wasn't surprised when he walked into the kitchen and saw Sara and Charles holding each other. It was just a hug, a comforting gesture between two people going through the same hell of loving an embattled person, but they jumped away from each other like they had been caught naked. Maybe in a way they had been naked. Charles tripped over himself apologizing. Sara just looked at the ground, hands on the counter behind her, lips pressed together.

Jack could tell the hug had been a precursor to something else, but he wasn't angry. He was oddly calm about it. He told them it was okay, that he understood. He crossed the kitchen and touched Sara's jaw, forcing her to look at him before he kissed her lips. She fell into the kiss, sagging against him desperately. He kept his lips closed, but hers parted and he felt her tongue against his mouth. He withdrew and left her searching, and he turned to pull Kawalsky forward.

_"Jack... look, I--"_

_"It's okay."_

Sara was tense, and Kawalsky gave into the inevitable. He kissed his friend's wife, and Sara whimpered quietly in her throat. Wanting it, but not wanting to want it. Jack could see the conflict in her tense posture. Prison taught you a lot about body language. When the kiss broke, Kawalsky turned his head and was surprised to have Jack's lips on his a second later. Now it was his turn to make a surprised noise, but he didn't pull away. He could feel Sara relax, and Jack parted his lips to touch Kawalsky's mouth with his tongue. 

He didn't need talking or coddling or therapy. He didn't need to tell people how it felt to crouch in a cell with broken bones, to wonder if he'd ever see the sunrise. He'd spent an entire day wondering if he would ever see _Saturday Night Live_ again before realizing he'd never really liked the show to begin with. Telling people about that sort of thing would only make him wallow in the moment of pain. It would freeze him in time, stick him there forever. He needed... he needed...

Jack's hand moved up to the curve of Sam's hip. The love and comfort of people who cared about him. Who knew him, who knew what a frustrating ass he could be, and still loved him anyway. As he and Sara had taken Kawalsky into their bedroom that night, Jack had found comfort in Daniel during the turbulent first years of the Stargate program. His experiences with Kawalsky - initial clumsy gropings turning into something more with the assistance of Sara - had awakened him to the possibility of loving another man. 

And then Netu. Another prison, more torture, another pain that wouldn't go away with talking about it... only this time he wasn't the only one with nightmares. Jack suggested a team getaway up to the cabin, and woke the first night to the screams coming from the room down the hall. He'd burst in, awkwardness be damned as he drew Sam's head to his bare chest, kneeling on her bed in only a pair of boxer shorts, and rocked her until she stopped crying out. Only afterward did they realize he was practically naked and she was in only a slip, but by then it was too late to be embarrassed. 

It was Daniel who brought them together. He offered Sam a massage before bed to quiet her mind, and she acquiesced. They adjourned into the bedroom and, a few minutes later, Jack could hear moaning. He moved down the hall and watched from the door, neither of them aware of being observed as Daniel slid his hand between her legs again. He was whispering to her. Sam's hands clutched the pillow on either side of her head, her back arched to press her lower body against his hand.

"Should I run down to the store?" Jack asked softly.

He expected shock, surprise, fear, anger, but Sam didn't even turn around. She simply lifted her head and said, "Please don't."

Daniel looked over his shoulder at Jack and nodded once, and Jack joined them in the guest room. 

Porn told him that situations like this were meant to be raucous affairs. Dirty talking, lots of position switching, orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Sweaty bodies jumbled together in a mess of limbs and sheets. He covered Daniel's hand with his own, kissed his lover, and together they brought Sam to a nearly-silent orgasm. It was methodical, nearly medicinal, and Sam fell asleep quickly afterward. Daniel and Jack remained in her bed in case of further nightmares, and Jack woke later just as a warm mouth closed around the tip of his cock. The blow job was quick, silent, and he only discovered the identity of his lover when he put a hand on the back of her neck during his orgasm. She swallowed, and then moved up his body to kiss him. She fell asleep in his arms. 

In the morning, Jack rolled over and blinked them into focus. They were both facedown, Daniel on top of Sam, his face in her hair as he thrust. Sam had her hands pressed against the headboard, head tilted back, lips parted in pleasure as she let Daniel guide their movements. He had a hand on her hip and another on her shoulder. Jack had seen him do the same thing with ancient stone statues, and smiled at the thought he'd just discovered something about Daniel's affinity for archaeology. 

Daniel came, and used his hand to finish Sam off before he withdrew. Sam sat up and Jack could see her chest as it turned pink, her bangs caught in her eyelashes as she realized her commanding officer had just watched her get fucked. Jack slid across the blanket and kissed her. After a moment of uncertainty, her lips softened against his. She flattened her hand against his chest and stroked the hair until Daniel's weight lifted off the bed. 

"I'm going to take a quick shower... anyone want to join me?"

Now, Sam stirred under his hand. He rearranged himself, stretching out behind her and lifting the sheet. Sam squirmed, and he angled his hips so that she fit neatly against him. He kissed the back of her neck, and she craned her head around until he could meet her lips. They whispered through the kiss, one-word questions and statements, and she nodded before facing forward. Sam licked the fingers of one hand, then held the other back for Jack to wet. He loved her hands, and had once spent a good ten minutes just kissing them, but this was for practical needs. 

He wet his own palm as Sam rolled onto her side again. She moved her hands under the blanket, slipping one hand between Daniel's body and the mattress. He murmured in his sleep but didn't wake. Jack put one hand on Sam's shoulder as his other hand spread moisture over the head of his cock. Sam angled her lower body up, and Jack pressed himself into her. She grunted quietly, and God he loved that grunt. He looked past her, at the sheet that obscured her movements. Her hand moved along the length of Daniel's cock, stroking him to an unconscious hardness before her other hand slid between the cheeks of his ass.

Sam pushed a finger into him, squeezing his cock and finally waking him. He hunched his shoulders and then extended his legs, stretching and tightening himself around Sam's finger before he looked back at them.

"I hate you guys," he whispered.

Sam chuckled, and Jack just kissed her hair. Smooth, blonde, coiffed hair during the day somehow turned into a scarecrow wig at night, and he loved it. He loved every wild tuft, every crazy flyaway and cowlick. Sam moved against Jack as she stroked and fucked Daniel, and Jack ran his hands over Sam's curved to the flat lines of Daniel's body. Soon all three were panting, gasping for release. Sam came first, turning her head to muffle her moans against the pillow. 

Daniel rolled over, pressing against Sam and cupping her breasts as he guided his cock between her thighs. She closed around him and he thrust, not inside of her but pinned by her, and he tilted his head back as he felt Jack's cock moving against his. He came on Sam's inner thigh, and Jack pulled out to do the same, the heads of their cocks bumping against Sam's labia as they throbbed. Jack put his hands on Sam's back and kissed the top of her head, and Daniel kissed her neck before both men sat up and kissed each other.

Sam rolled onto her back and let both men kiss her. Eventually Daniel got out of bed and returned with a wet cloth, easing Sam's knees apart to wipe off her thighs. She trembled as his fingers stroked her flesh, eyes closed and teeth working her bottom lip until he stopped. He climbed back into bed, put his arm around them both, and rested his head on Sam's shoulder. 

Daniel was half-asleep when he asked, "Who started it?"

"Jack, I think..."

"Does it matter?" Jack whispered.

Sam smiled and kissed them, then said, "I need to be up early tomorrow, Jack."

"We all do," Daniel reminded him.

Jack nodded. "I know. I just..."

"We understand." Daniel kissed him again. "Did you get what you needed?"

Jack smiled. "Yeah."

He held them as they fell back to sleep, letting his hands roam their bodies. Sometimes he felt like he was doomed to repeat key moments in his life, tragedies and loss, torture and darkness. But as long as he was also fated to survive, and to move on with the care and love of people who loved him back... he thought it was a pretty fair trade.


End file.
